a/n: thank you to those who've been reviewing and putting this story on your update lists. much appreciated (:

Chapter 12

2012:

"So... you ever thought of marrying before?" John had asked another time.

"Once. And I did get married." Bruce had noted with satisfaction then the surprise that crossed over John's features.

"Oh?"

"I was under the influence of a plant." John had then looked utterly confused.

"Like a drug?"

"No," Bruce had said, deadpan, "like a plant."

It had been one of the better days, six years ago.

It was also one of those things he tended to consign to the 'weird files' as Timothy had once called them. Bruce looked up from the worktable to glance at the row of cases along the wall. The bright red of Tim's costume seemed to gleam from within it. He then looked through the trophy gallery. Remnants of old foes stared back at him. Scarface. Harley Quinn's headgear. The giant penny. There were getting dusty. No one to clean them, he noted dully to himself.

"You did get the invitation."

Bruce resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Clark, what are you doing in my city?"

"Checking up on you."

He turned a grim smile to where Superman hovered, just in front of the Mechanical Dinosaur. "I don't need babysitting." As an afterthought he added, "Congratulations to you and Lois."

Clark had the decency to look like a blushing farmboy for about two seconds before the reporter persona kicked in. "She was disappointed you didn't turn up. Why didn't you?"

"Preventing someone from taking over Wayne Enterprises, my apologies if Bruce Wayne was unable to show."

"Bruce Wayne?"

Bruce looked up, nonplussed at Clark's hesitance. "That is what they call the man you see on television, yes."

"You know, if you ever need help with-"

"I don't need help Clark, you know that."

"Sure. Right." He landed beside Bruce, looking down at the work table. "Nice."

Bruce arched an eyebrow as he glanced sideways at Clark, but decided to humour him nonetheless. "I've only just started working on it again. The project started two years ago." Clark mercifully did not try to press him further on the exact date he had stopped.

"Synthetic powered suit?"

"I could use a boost."

Clark looked sceptical, then studied the symbol design etched on the chest.

"That symbol..."

Bruce's fingers twitched as recognition passed across the Man of Steel's face.

"No different from your new outfit." He said, looking just as intently at the circuitry embossed shape.

"How can you say that?"

Here Bruce allowed himself a smirk. "I'm ditching the cape." Clark looked at him in disbelief, then snorted in amusement.

"I can't believe you just made a joke about that. You know Waller's still watching us."

"Waller has been working with us," Bruce corrected. "This makes her easier to persuade. And she also knows I'm no longer affiliating myself with the Justice League. That I never really have." He ignored Clark's scoff at that, "And from what I recall, it certainly made an impression on the populace it was used with, even though it was edged out in that ridiculous Gladiator style garb."

"No more Caped Crusader then?"

"Just the terror of the night, all that."

"You know Bruce, one day you're going to work yourself too hard. Go easy on that heart of yours." Clark said, then mentally slapped himself as Bruce went rigid beside him.

"I'm not young, Clark." The voice was soft, with a slight desperation that Clark managed to pick up.

"So let someone else do the running around for a change."

"Not an option." Bruce instinctively glanced at the row of cases again. Remembered Barbara as she fell that night with the bullet, because he had lulled them both into a dependency on the field, and he had thought she would be able to look out for herself. He forgot how easily the body was conditioned, how easy it was to feel comfortable knowing that someone was there to pick up your slack. No, he could not put someone in danger like that again, could not allow himself the complacency that came with company. Which explained the suit.

"Bruce, there are other ways. Let the Leaguers in. Or come back. Be the strategist. We could use you." Clark paused for a moment before continuing, "We still do, really, seeing as you do look over the occasional case file."

The look Bruce gave Clark was almost pained. "Me, sitting behind a screen, watching the world's heroes carry on in front of me as I relayed a set of instructions?" He looked back at the suit. "Forgive me if I find the thought utterly depressing."

They stayed that way in silence for a couple of minutes.

"What colour are you going to make it?"

"Black." Both their mouths quirked at that.

"The whole thing?"

"No..." he said as Drake's costume caught his eye for the umpteenth time that night. His hand traced the Bat-symbol on the new costume's front. "This'll be red."

Clark followed his line of vision, and he pressed his lips together in contemplation. Red, the colour of danger, a warning, of fire, and at the same time, one of courage, of strength, passion, love. Also, of blood, the heart that pumped that life force through each of them. And Bruce's heart was Gotham. Bruce's passion was Gotham, and by extension, humanity. Clark only hoped it would not destroy his own as time went on.

"You know what they say, Bruce. Don't be a stranger." He patted the silent man on the shoulder and showed himself out of the cave.

April 10th, 2010:

The lights were bright, and garish, and hurt his eyes. Bruce squinted into the camera flashes as he got out of the car onto the red carpet. But Bruce Wayne was officially a bachelor again, and had to keep up with appearances, so he slapped on his thickest grin and sauntered past. Was he alone? Yes, he was. Was the peace conference important to him? Well, of course, but what he was really here for were those very, very passionate ladies who involved themselves in such causes. Where was Miss Gordon? Miss who? Inwardly he winced, and hoped Jim would forgive him this once if he ever found out.

But the peace and technologies conference was important to him, even as he sat with a vacant smile through the pledges by various corporations and countries for greater cooperation, especially as the economy was now experiencing growth like never before. Yes. Wayne Enterprises would need to keep track of possible partners, and Batman would have to keep stock of the latest innovations soon to flood the market, innovations that could be twisted into weapons for the black market. His mingling through the buffet reception after proved useful in this. Drunken officials and company directors made his life all the more easier.

Then he saw her among the crowd, and felt his stomach drop. Of course she would be here. Themyscira's ambassador, spreading peace and good will to all men. She caught his eye, and smiled. He made his way to the punch bowl, and upped the oily playboy ante as high as he could.

"Bruce Wayne. How nice to meet you again," she said, her hand proffered. Did she actually think she was going to play some sort of game? She would regret it.

"Why, Princess!" He smiled, grin turning predatory as he took her hand and pressed it for slightly too long to his lips. When he looked up into her eyes they had turned wary. Good. "You know, this punch is quite satisfactory. Just the right amount of tang." His voice dipped as he leaned closer to her, "Quite like you, my dear."

"Bruce, what are you-" she began as he grabbed her waist and began to lead her to one of the hall's enclaves. Not two steps after their departure from the buffet tables he smoothed his hand past her waist and settled it possessively on her behind, a leer on his face. "What are you playing at?" she hissed, and made to remove his hand from her, but he grabbed her wrist with his free hand and drew her in, pinning her other arm between herself and his chest.

"Playing?" he asked airily, "No miss, you mistake me. I take things very seriously." He was almost pressing into her obscenely now. "Very seriously."

"Get away, Bruce, you know I can break your arm in two seconds." They were apart from most of the crowd now, within a window seat some distance from the main tables.

"You shouldn't attract trouble to yourself," he murmured into her ear, undeterred, "And I don't recall approaching you first. You shouldn't engage something you can't handle."

"Bruce-" she started again, weakly, looking about as sickened as he expected her to. It would be better if she did break his arm, he thought to himself even as his smile stretched wider. If it was any other person by this point, she would have.

"You're such a tease, your Highness."

"Bruce, this isn't you. Please."

"On the contrary. Maybe you don't know me as you think you do," and he crushed his lips to hers with the crudeness of an inebriated lecher, running his hands suggestively up her sides. Then he broke away and sneered at her, "You should remember that. Wouldn't want you getting hurt, would we?" He then whirled her around and pushed her towards the crowd, laughing with scorn as she stumbled slightly.

"Don't be a stranger," he called after her, sinking into the window seat cushions as he watched her enraged figure walk stiffly off.

He resisted the urge to press his fingers into his temples, and began composing his answer to what he was sure would be a soon to be enraged Clark Kent even as he maintained his rakish slouch. Sorry Clark, but I had to. He doubted the man would accept that. But if this didn't chase her away, he wasn't quite sure what would anymore.

He did find the answer to that about a month and a half later. He was almost glad for that last straw where she finally took the hint when it happened. Almost.